


wait for something better (this is your life)

by rosedvst



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, But also, M/M, Post-Season/Series 06, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Reunions, basically just a lot of metaphors about rain, i guess idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-20 23:40:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15544791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosedvst/pseuds/rosedvst
Summary: Shiro loves him so much that it hurts in the places where the disease doesn’t dare touch, where his heart beats and his pulse quickens and his cheeks flush.Shiro loves him so much that he considers taking the heavy ring out and proposing right then and there, disease be damned.Shiro loves him so much that he wants to spend the rest of his life with him, however short that may be, because he can’t imagine a life without Adam’s crooked glasses and Adam’s scars and Adam’s smiles.☆ﾟ. * ･ ｡ﾟOr, Shiro learns how to fly while falling in love, and everything is perfect, until it isn't.





	wait for something better (this is your life)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm still reeling over the fact that shiro is canon gay y'all...  
> unbeta'd bc i dont have any friends lmfao  
> also title is from This is Your Life by the Killers i love them sm  
> lemme know if u liked it idk maybe i'll write some more ;0  
> EDIT: this was posted pre-s7 so obviously it doesn't align w canon. think of it as an au or smth!

When Shiro meets Adam, it’s raining outside. Heavy sheets of cold raindrops soak his brand new Garrison uniform as he runs across the courtyard, backpack bouncing in time with each of his steps. He is fourteen, and wide-eyed and bright and full of everything a fourteen-year old should be full of: hope and innocence and wanderlust. 

The storm persists. The wind howls in his ears and whips his hair. The sound of thunder echoes from miles away as his boots make splashes in uneven puddles.

He is going to be late for class. His very first day as a Junior Cadet at the Garrison, and he is going to be late. Shiro should have expected this. His track record for being on time has never been that good anyways, but he had still hoped to make a good first impression to start off what he hoped to be a long tenure at the Galaxy Garrison. No such luck, it would appear. That's okay. Shiro can work with it.

Shiro makes it to class just as the bell rings, heels squeaking on linoleum tile. He walks in, dripping wet and shivering from the cold, and promptly freezes in his tracks. He does not know any of the kids in this class, he realizes. He doesn’t know where to sit. He feels even more lost and unprepared than he had been feeling before, anxiety squeezing at his throat and gnawing at his rib cage.

Until a kid towards the back of the class catches his eye and motions to the empty seat next to him. Shiro has never felt so grateful. He walks towards the seat and smiles at the boy. The boy’s eyes are a warm brown behind the glint of his glasses, and the soft smile that he returns sends lighting through Shiro’s body.

Shiro takes his seat with a quiet “Thank you,” as their teacher introduces herself and the course. Shiro wasn’t quite sure what class this was, if he was being honest.

The boy nods. “It’s no problem,” He whispers. His voice is rich and light. His hands are placed on the desk in front of him, folded over each other. He smiles. “I’m Adam.”

“I’m Shiro.”

From then on, Shiro only pretends to listen to what the teacher is saying as he steals glances at Adam. If his grades start slipping, then he can always just come to Adam for help, he decides.

This first year is Shiro’s favorite.

 

☆ﾟ. * ･ ｡ﾟ

 

The following year, they are assigned as roommates. They smile real big at each other upon hearing the news.

They are best friends now, and Senior Cadets, with chips on their shoulders and expectations to fill. They both have dreams of becoming pilots, flying into space and seeing the cosmos.

“I call top bunk,” Shiro says slyly as they push their way into their new dorm. Adam rolls his eyes.

“Only if I get the desk by the window,” He says. Shiro pretends to consider it, before saying “Fine.” He drops his bags with a flourish and climbs into the top bunk, flopping down on the mattress spread eagle.

Adam laughs and throws his bags on his bed. There is a moment of silence, where they both just stop and listen to the A/C whirring and the crackle of thunder nearby. It’s dark outside, clouds obscuring the sun. Adam walks over and opens the window, the smell of rain and humidity breaching their room. There is a downpour just waiting to happen.

It always seems to be storming here, Shiro thinks. He likes it. He knows that after every storm, there will be a rainbow, fading along the horizon next to the setting sun.

For the rest of the year, they spend their days going to class and learning dumb procedures and regulations about being a pilot and practicing flying in the simulators, all of the boring stuff. However, the night belongs to them. They sneak out and go into town to buy milkshakes or ice cream or anything to satisfy Shiro's sweet tooth, or they stay in their dorm and marathon old episodes of the X Files until it's 3 a.m. and Adam falls asleep against Shiro's shoulder.

Adam's eyelashes are dark against his cheeks. His mouth parts slightly, and he maybe drools a little bit, but it's okay because he is Shiro's best friend.

It's perfect. Shiro wouldn't change a thing about it.

It's home.

 

☆ﾟ. * ･ ｡ﾟ

 

Raindrops dance across Shiro’s face as he walks in the drizzle, shoulder bumping into Adam’s. Their footsteps are out of sync. Shiro thinks that there is nothing he wants more than to walk as one.

Three years have passed, and they are now almost Junior Officers. They are on their way back from one of their late night escapes. Shiro’s hand is shoved in the pocket of his jacket. Adam’s hand lingers by his side, alone.

Adam’s wearing one of Shiro’s old sweatshirts, the one he got from space camp during his middle school years that would probably be too small on him now but fits Adam perfectly. It’s Shiro’s favorite sweatshirt, but only when Adam wears it, because it makes him look incredibly dorky and soft.

There is also something about seeing Adam wearing his clothes so casually that sends flurries into Shiro’s heart. He ignores it, because that’s what he does with his problems--not that a pulsing heart and a blushing face should be considered a problem.

 

Adam hums while he walks, a tune that sounds suspiciously like a  _ Florence + the Machine _ song, and Shiro thinks about reaching out and taking his hand; interlacing their fingers and squeezing softly so that Adam knows just what Shiro is feeling. Shiro has never been one for words, anyways.

Before he can even decide whether or not his idea was stupid or the best one he’s had yet, he feels a hand slipping into his pocket alongside his own. Shiro looks over in surprise as Adam continues to walk nonchalantly.

Adam glances at him. “What? It’s cold out.” And then Adam is grabbing Shiro’s hand as if it isn’t totally crazy, like it was a normal thing that the two of them did--Shiro and Adam, holding hands and walking along the dimly lit road leading to their dorms, shoulders pressed together and breaths warm with the cadence of their laughing voices.

Shiro accepts this. He squeezes Adam’s hand and brings it out of his pocket so that he can swing their arms as they walk. Adam lets out a breathless laugh, and squeezes back.

In that moment, under streetlights and stars and everything that glows, he feels indestructible.

 

☆ﾟ. * ･ ｡ﾟ

 

The ring sits heavy in Shiro’s palm, gold and simple and a promise of a life he could not give, no matter how much he wanted it.

The disease sits heavy in Shiro’s body, cold and unrelenting and representing all the things that he can not have.

Everything is heavy these days.

Shiro is a raindrop, heavy and cold and insignificant in the grand scheme of things. He is falling quick and fast. He is the first raindrop among thousands. He is different from the other raindrops, though, because he is going to hit the ground before anybody else. The thought scares him so much that he almost can't breathe.

“Knock, knock,” A voice, rich and happy, sounds from the doorway. Shiro fumbles with the ring, shoving it into his pocket hastily and looking up at Adam from his spot on the couch.

Adam is leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and eyebrow quirked. “Everything okay?” He has probably just come back from a lesson. They are older now, adults who bear the titles of Senior Officers and instructors. Adam teaches an Intro to Engineering Course, and he loves the kids in his class. He loves his life right now, Shiro knows. He wishes he could make it last forever.

Shiro nods and gives him a weak smile. Adam sees right through it, because he always does, and frowns while crossing the room. He sits next to Shiro, thigh pressing against his. Despite however many walls and facades Shiro attempts to put up, especially recently with the development of his illness, Adam always manages to break them down. He leans over and takes Shiro’s hand with his own warm, soft one. It feels like a luxury that Shiro can no longer afford.

Adam’s hair is windswept and wavy, and his glasses sit crooked on his face. Shiro can’t ever recall a time when they sat on the bridge of his nose properly. When they were Cadets, full of hope and innocence and wanderlust, Adam’s glasses had been just as crooked as Shiro’s smile as they aced every drill and simulation together. Shiro misses those years so deeply sometimes that he can’t breathe.

Adam has a mole just below his left eye, and hands that shake with anxiety, and a small tattoo on the blade of his shoulder that Shiro loves to map with his fingertips, with his mouth.

Adam has scars on his stomach from when he had to get his appendix removed, and one of them sits just below his belly button--one pale ridge on an endless expanse of warm brown skin.

Adam has the most beautiful smiles; grins that light up Shiro’s world even when he feels like his illness is taking over, smirks that alight a fire within Shiro’s body, lips that make Shiro hot and cold at the same time.

Shiro loves him so much that it hurts in the places where the disease doesn’t dare touch, where his heart beats and his pulse quickens and his cheeks flush. 

Shiro loves him so much that he considers taking the heavy ring out and proposing right then and there, disease be damned.

Shiro loves him so much that he wants to spend the rest of his life with him, however short that may be, because he can’t imagine a life without Adam’s crooked glasses and Adam’s scars and Adam’s smiles.

For now, he rests his head on Adam’s shoulder and shudders out a pained breath. Adam runs his hands over Shiro’s shoulders, back, cheeks.

“Takashi,” Adam whispers, over and over again. “It’ll be okay, Takashi.”

Shiro almost believes him.

 

☆ﾟ. * ･ ｡ﾟ

 

Weeks pass. Shiro is admitted to go on the Kerberos mission. His pain worsens, aches and stabs and jolts crisscrossing the expanse of his body, deep in his bones.

Adam is there for it all, but there is a sadness in his eyes that almost makes Shiro want to stay more than he wants to go.

 

 

☆ﾟ. * ･ ｡ﾟ

 

In the early hours of the morning that Shiro was to take off on the Kerberos mission, he gets out of the bed he shares with Adam. Adam is curled up on his side, breathing slowly and evenly, mouth parted and fingertips twitching.

He is wearing Shiro’s space camp sweatshirt. It had taken hours for either of them to fall asleep.

Shiro longs for the days of X-Files marathons and late night snack runs, when they were crushing on each other hard but were too shy to do anything about it, and settled for brushing hands and long hugs and soft smiles. The longing aches deep in his bones, almost like a disease itself. It hurts him.

The longer Shiro stands there, the more he will feel compelled to get back into bed, to forget Kerberos, and to live out the rest of his life with the man that he loves.

So Shiro leaves. But before he does, he finds the plain, golden, heavy ring that he had hidden within the pocket of his favorite jacket, and leaves it on his pillow, next to Adam’s sleeping face.

It is a promise that he will come back, no matter what, even if Adam wasn’t going to be waiting for him.

Shiro is full of promises that he can’t keep.

 

☆ﾟ. * ･ ｡ﾟ

 

Shiro takes a heaviness up into space with him, the second time he leaves; a storm cloud in his head, a never-ending cycle of thunder and rain and cold.

The team doesn’t notice, and he doesn’t address it. It is with him, a part of him, just like the scar on the bridge of his nose and the alien prosthetic attached to his right shoulder.

The raindrops stay for long after the storm ends.

 

☆ﾟ. * ･ ｡ﾟ

 

The Galra surround Earth like parasites, an unrelenting disease. Metaphors about illness still linger in the back of Shiro’s mind, it seems, even after years of it being cleansed from his body. Sometimes he still wishes he could go back.

Years have passed. Shiro has become a paladin of the Black Lion and leader of Voltron, died, then returned to life in the span of that time. Half of it doesn't even feel real. He wishes he could feel again.

Taking out the fleet is harrowing, and difficult, and tiring. Allura, and Hunk, and Pidge, and Lance, and Keith--the kids that, once upon a time, couldn’t even get along, the kids that argued and bickered and fought one another, the kids that Shiro loves and would do anything to protect--form Voltron and fight Galra ship after Galra ship, and Shiro is struck with the realization that these kids aren’t so much kids anymore.

Allura’s overwhelming loss is reflected in the fire in her eyes and steely determination in her voice as she calmly speaks over the comms. Hunk’s courage shines as bright as the millions of stars they’ve seen on their voyages, a beacon of hope in the face of devastating fear. Pidge’s maturity and self-assuredness instill a sense of security among everyone in the team, and her quick thinking saves them on more than one occasion. Lance’s concern for everyone’s well-being keeps them grounded, and his unwavering passion motivates them to keep fighting, no matter the odds.

Keith’s leadership, his cool temper, and his good judgement bring them to victory. It’s funny, Shiro thinks, that these are all characteristics that Keith was lacking at the start of their journey, when he was full of fire and stubbornness and had a tendency to do whatever the hell he wanted. He has changed now. Shiro’s heart is filled to the brim with pride, and love, and a bit of nostalgia. His little brother. Leader of the defenders of the universe.

The Galra fleet sinks under the burning sword of Voltron, in the end. They are all too tired to celebrate with one another, but instead find comfort through their shared connection, thrumming with happiness.

They are safe. They are happy. They are home.

We are home, Shiro thinks. The raining in his heart eases.

 

☆ﾟ. * ･ ｡ﾟ

 

When they land just outside the Galaxy Garrison, Shiro doesn’t know what to expect. It has been over two years since he had last set foot here, not counting his last brief visit where he was pretty much unconscious for the whole time only to be launched into space once more with four rowdy teenagers and a bad case of amnesia.

The rest of the team steps out of their lions before him.

Lance is the first, eager and anxious, and as soon as his feet touch the ground he is crying, silent sobs wracking his body as he sinks to his knees, fingers scrabbling at the dirt. Shiro makes to go over and comfort him, but Keith is already rushing out of the Black Lion from his place next to Shiro. He crouches in the dirt next to Lance, and exchanges quiet words with him. Allura is there too, with comforting touches and warm eyes, and Shiro thinks that there is something poetic about the three of them. He can’t quite decipher it, but it is there, in the way that Allura and Keith both care so deeply about Lance.

Hunk and Pidge step out next and stand silently beside one another, taking in the sight of the Garrison and the desert surrounding it. Hunk lays a gentle hand on Pidge’s shoulder, and she leans into it, relaxed. Shiro is glad that they are best friends, and that they found each other. They have a bond not unlike the one he has formed with Keith. The comfort found in forged familial bonds and shared life experiences is a comfort like no other, he thinks to himself.

Romelle and Coran wait on the ground next to the Blue Lion, taking in all of the sights and sounds that Earth has to offer. Krolia’s stands at Shiro’s back, a comforting presence.

“Go,” She says, and her tone of voice is indecipherable, steely. Shiro suspects that she is reminiscing of the first time she landed on Earth, in a desert not far from here. “I will be right behind you.”

He smiles at her, and then he is stepping onto the desert sand and taking a deep breath.

The air is still as dry and arid as he remembers it being. The sun is setting slowly, the sky a picturesque mixture of reds and pinks and oranges that can only be found in this desert, on this planet. It’s almost as if there wasn’t just a raging intergalactic war above them, as if Earth was still peaceful and untouched by the Galra.

Tears unwittingly prick at Shiro’s eyes. He lets them fall. He thinks back to something Lance had told him, when Shiro had mentioned how useless he feels now that his connection with Black is severed and he is unable to pilot a lion.  _ There is bravery in being vulnerable, _ Lance had said, kindness in his eyes and soul and heart.  _ You’re allowed to feel useless and helpless and broken. But that doesn’t mean that you are. _

Shiro thinks that despite Pidge’s genius, and Hunk’s sensibility, and Allura’s insight, and Keith’s talent, and Coran’s experience, that Lance is the smartest one on the team.

Garrison personnel are soon coming out to meet them, commander and cadets alike, saluting and cheering and waving them over, and Shiro is suddenly rushed back several years ago, to when he was running in the rain and his biggest problem was whether or not he was going to be late to his first class.

Chemistry, his brain supplies helpfully. It was Chemistry 1 Honors. You sat next to Adam every single day and analyzed the pattern of the freckles on his hand rather than the equations on the board.

_ Adam _ . The name echoes in his head.

_ Adam _ .

_ Where is Adam? _

_ Takashi _ .

_ Takashi _ .

“Takashi?” A voice, rich and deep, whispers from behind him.

Shiro turns, the breath punched out of his lungs at the sound of his voice--the same voice that had been whispering to Shiro in his dreams ever since the day that he left Earth.

Adam.

His shoulders are broader than Shiro remembers them being, and he absently thinks about the tattoo that rests on his shoulder blade. Did he get any more while Shiro was away? Shiro finds himself wanting to know. His hair is a bit longer, shaggier, curling around his ears and over his forehead. His hands shake at his sides, just like they always did whenever he was particularly anxious. His eyes are wide behind the crooked lens of his glasses, searching Shiro’s face for something that Shiro doesn’t know how to give.

A chain sits around his neck. On it, a ring. Simple and plain and shining gold. But not heavy. Shiro took all of the heaviness with him when he got into a ship, took off for Kerberos, and never looked back.

“Takashi,” Adam stutters out again. Shiro’s finds himself taking a step forward, but he feels like he’s not present in his body right now--he is a ghost watching from above, shocked and excited and so, so in love. After all this time, so many battles and hardships and uncertainties, life or death experiences, and so much distance, and Shiro is still being pulled into Adam’s orbit.

He takes another step, and then another. Adam meets him halfway. He always does.

Shiro reaches out and wraps his arms, flesh and new alien prosthetic, around Adam’s waist, and feels the first echoes of a sob reach up his throat. For the first time in a long time, he cries.

He cries into the collar of Adam’s decorated Senior Officer uniform. Adam cries, too, but not with his voice--his cries are in the shaking of his body, the trembling of his ribs. He cries with the quiver of his lip and the twitching of his hands. He’s always been a silent crier. He’s always been stronger than Shiro.

Over his cries, he registers Adam’s voice whispering over and over again, a mantra, a blessing, “Takashi. You’re here, Takashi.”

Shiro says, through stifled sobs, “You waited for me. Why… Why did you do that?”

Adam pulls back and looks at Shiro. His eyes don’t linger over his scar, or his white hair, or his prosthetic, which makes Shiro’s heart ache--he just looks into Shiro’s eyes like he can find all of the truth in the world there, and says, “The Garrison told me you died, and that the Kerberos mission failed due to ‘pilot error’.” He laughs, a soft sound that Shiro had missed with his entire being, and tears are tracing the curves of his cheeks. “In all my years of knowing you, you have never once made a pilot error. I knew something happened to you. I knew the Garrison was lying. I knew that you were still alive.”

He paused, his hand coming up to rest on Shiro’s cheek. It was warm and soft, untouched by war. Shiro wonders what Adam would think of his calloused knuckles and rough palm, the cold metal of his right arm.

“I was wrong when I said that I can’t keep doing this, Takashi. I am so sorry. I would wait for years and years if it meant that you would come back to me one day," Adam's voice quivers and cracks. He takes a breath. "Even after all this time, I am so in love with you.”

And Shiro gets it, because there wasn’t a day he spent up in space that he did not think about Adam.

Adam's shaky hands and Adam's wavy hair and Adam's tattoo. Adam’s crooked glasses and Adam’s scars and Adam’s smiles.

His tears, like raindrops, are sliding down his cheeks. When he leans in to kiss Adam, the rain ceases, and the heaviness dissipates.

Happiness, he realizes, is blinding. It is like the first light during dawn, the fog of the night finally clearing. It is warm and bright and radiant and everything he forgot to feel when he was light years away from home, in the cold depths of a foreign galaxy with too much responsibility and the fate of the universe weighing on his shoulders.

He lets go.

For the first time in years, he finds himself chasing the sun.

 

☆ﾟ. * ･ ｡ﾟ

**Author's Note:**

> yeehaw  
> if u leave kudos + comments i will cry  
> yell at me on tumblr [@etherja](http://etherja.tumblr.com/)


End file.
